


Something More

by lightofdaye



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Marriage, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightofdaye/pseuds/lightofdaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where the books never happened and Bran remains uncrippled, he's just becoming of age and is worried that a marriage pact will take him away from the woman he really loves; Meera Red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something More

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on [The ASoIaF Kink Meme ](asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com) Asking for an uncrippled older Bran getting to be happy with an older Meera Reed. I’m afraid and I kind of went crazy with the set up.

  
Brandon Stark looked across the dais at the young woman seated opposite him on the high table. He swallowed another gulp of wine and tried to summon his courage. Meera Reed, a daughter of Greywater Watch, caught him looking at her and smiled and waved. There was no reason she shouldn’t, of course. They’d known each other for years.  
  
She’d come to Winterfell nearly seven years ago when he’d been nine and she’d been sixteen. And they’d become fast friends. A Crannog of the Neck, she was hardly what anyone would call Lady-like, she wore breeches and an armoured vest made of bronzes scales and he’d learnt as much about fighting and hunting from her than he had from Winterfell’s Master-At-Arms, Ser Rodrik, much to the old knight’s bemusement.  
  
But in recent years, Brandon had felt more than that for her. Much to his embarrassment, people had noticed and laughed about it, thinking it the crush of a boy on the cusp of manhood discovering his urges. Of course, Brandon realised, they might have been right. He’d wrestled with it for months, seeing her every day in the yard, the way her lithe body moved so gracefully and quickly did nothing to alleviate Bran’s tension. It had waxed and waned in those years but now at the tender age of nearly sixteen, it hit him again full force and he could hardly to talk to her for the longing.  
  
The idea was ridiculous, even ignoring the fact that Meera was a good seven years older than him, he was the second son of Winterfell. House Stark was one the seven greatest families in the realm, his marriage would be arranged for him by his father for political reasons and serving as Hand Of The King. Meera was a daughter of one of Winterfell’s vassals, already sworn to it by ancient oaths. House Stark had no need of closer ties with it and therefore no need for him to marry someone from it.  
  
There was, however, one faint ray of hope on the horizon for Bran. His sixteenth name day would be in a few days. It was a big event as he would officially be considered a man by his family at that time and in honour of it his father was taking a break from King’s Landing to return home for the celebration. Of course, he may well want to announce the match he’d made for Bran while at court, but Brandon studiously avoided that thought as best he could. Brandon glanced towards the head of the table as his wine cup was refilled by a serving girl. He wouldn’t usually drink this much but it was a feast after all, welcoming the Lord home, so he figured he was allowed.  
  
Eddard Stark looked to have aged more than a decade while in the capital and his brown hair was beginning to show silver streaking through it. He had on his lord’s face; set hard and grim except for his grey eyes, which were alight with happiness and merriment that perhaps only his family could see. It encouraged Bran to see his father like that, surely his father would understand.  
  
He glanced back to Meera, who’d turned back to her brother to talk now. It wouldn’t matter how understanding his father was if Meera didn’t feel the same way and what were the chances of that? She was a woman grown, and a skilled hunter and beautiful, and what was he? Just The second son of her lord and a scrawny boy who liked to climb. He wasn’t a brave knight like he wanted, not even a squire. What could she see in him?  
  
The feast was coming to a close and music for dancing was starting. Mother immediately went onto the floor with father to starting things off and Robb didn’t have to wait long before he was propositioned by one of the visiting ladies, Dacey Mormont of Bear Island.  
  
“My lord,” said a formal voice, next to his ear. “Would you care for a dance?”  
  
Bran jumped and turned to see Meera smiling at him with laughter in her brilliant green eyes.  
  
“Oo-of course.” Bran stuttered feeling quite the fool. He came to his feet and approached the dance floor with Meera. She took one of his hands in hers and the other rested on his side. He was incredibly aware of the warmth of her fingers, his attention captivated by her touch. He wanted to enfold her in his arms and hold her tight to him. His imagination was telling him how good it would feel to have her entire body pressed against him instead of just her hand.  
  
Bran held himself away from her as they danced elsewise people would notice, they would see the closeness and realise what he felt. He didn’t want anyone to know until he told her himself. Yet the words had always stuck in his mouth whenever the opportunity to say them had come to light.  
  
“You didn’t have to say yes if you didn’t want to Bran, I would not have been offended.” Meera said, coolly. Bran felt surprise at the tone she took with him and his eyebrows shot up.  
  
“Sorry Meera?” He asked.  
  
“It’s great that you’re so polite, my lord. But if you actually wanted to dance you wouldn’t be holding me at arm’s length.”  
  
Obviously he’d overdone the ‘not wanting to be too close to her’ thing to the extent she thought he was holding himself back from.  
  
“No, no. Meera. I want to be with you… I mean dance. Dance with you.” He stumbled over the words in his haste to dispel Meera’s doubts. Her dark brows creased into a frown at him. She was not convinced.  
  
“It’s fine Brandon.” Meera said softly, dropping her hand from his and stepping to the side of the dance to let other people pass them, “I’ve been expecting this. I mean, you’re all grown up now, figures you’re going to start companionship of people more your own age.”  
  
She looked genuinely sad and more scarily genuinely resigned and accepting of the concept. Brandon’s stomach lurched, his heart hammered so it hard it felt as if it might escape his chest. Fear and adrenaline pushed him to madness and he stepped forward seizing her hand in his.  
  
“No Meera. No. I don’t want other people. I want you. I  _need_  you. Please, Meera, I think I love you.”  
  
Meera’s eyes widened, her jaw dropped a fraction of an inch. She wavered slightly like she really was a reed caught in the wind. She swallowed harshly and then said the damning words.  
  
“Bran. You’re drunk.”  
  
“And? So?” Bran asked.  
  
“So. I’m sorry Bran. I don’t think you’d be saying that if you were sober.”  
  
And with that she’s slipped out his grasp and through the crowd, leaving Bran with nothing but the memory of her touch and the strong desire to kick something. He returned to his table and appropriated a tankard of ale from a serving wench on the way, because even though he wasn’t truly drunk yet, after that he was jolly well going to be.  
  
~  
  
He woke up on the stone floor on his room with his head pounding and his heart broken. He was half undressed and had a single fur from his bed pulled half over him and he was entirely shivering and stiff with cold.  
  
Too much sunlight blazed in through the window and Bran quickly realised he had barely ten minutes before he was expected to be at weapon’s practise in the yard. He doused himself with cold water. Changed into his practise gear at break-neck speed and was still five minutes late.  
  
Ser Rodrik was not impressed, to say the least, neither with the tardiness nor the hangover and still kept Bran working at swordplay the entire morning. Even when it became clear that Bran’s heart and body was not in it that day, perhaps especially because of that. He had always said that battle did not come at the time and place of one’s choosing. Even so, Bran did not see the point of continuing, every other boy in training could ‘kill’ him practically at will; their tourney swords passing through his guard as if it was not there to smack against his leather and mail. Bran knew he would have a ripe crop of bruises by the evening but the pain was nothing compared to the fact that Meera had not been in the training yard that morning as she had chosen to be so many times before.  
  
It took him nearly all of the afternoon to track her down. He’d wandered through nearly every corridor and room of Winterfell, searched every patch of green in the godswood. Eventually it was Summer that found her. Running down her scent, he’d almost got away from Bran and when he caught up the wolf was lounging on the floor and Meera was scratching behind his ears fondly. She was smiling but that faded when she saw Bran. Her eyes became colder and less lively as well and she straightened up to face him.  
  
“If I didn’t know better, my Lady, I’d say you were trying to avoid me,” he said, not bothering to try and conceal the hurt in his voice.  
  
“I thought it be easier, my lord,” she said in a subdued tone, “if I could avoid you long enough, maybe we could both just forget about it and it’d be fine and we wouldn’t have this talk.”  
  
The tone of her voice smote Bran. The words she was saying were bad enough, but the tone. That was not the happy, confident, Meera he knew. The cheerful optimistic girl he loved. What had happened? His brain worked double time trying to figure it out and the words spilled out his mouth with him being hardly aware of what he was going to say.  
  
“Meera. I know. I get it, alright? You were avoiding me because you think you were right last night. You think you know what I’m going to say. That I was drunk and making things up, that I was lying or mistaken and that I think of us as just friends. But you’re wrong. You may have been my dearest friend for years but you’re more than that to me. I love you Meera.”  
  
His conscious brain was catching up to speech spilling from his heart at that point, deriding the words as stupidity; the sickly sweetly prose of a clueless young man. The kind of thing you only heard in Sansa’s songs. Meera was going to politely try and get away from him again or just laugh in his face. He was sure of it.  
  
So he kissed her. It was probably the only chance he was ever going to get to. He leant down and pressed his lips to hers, they were incredibly soft and warm and slightly damp. He pressed down and caught her lower lip between his. It tasted sweet and she was going to punch him any second now.  
  
Her arms came up and snaked round his neck pulling her closer as her mouth opened under his, the taste of her flooded his senses and he darted his tongue inexpertly into her mouth. She groaned, at least he thought she did, he just felt the vibrations of it rush through his chest. The kiss lingered but eventually they separated and Bran, somewhat sheepishly, realised Meera was stretched up onto the very tips of her toes to kiss him. He gently lowered her so her feet where entirely on the ground. It felt strange; when they’d first met, she’d been taller than him but it didn’t give him any second thoughts about what he had done.  
  
“You didn’t hit me.” He said, with a note of wonder in his tone.  
  
“Was I supposed to?” She replied, with a familiar light note.  
  
“No. I just…”  
  
“Just? Ah!” Her face broke into a wicked grin and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. “You thought I might turn you down. Ah, sweet Bran. I’ve been yours for the asking for years now.”  
  
A strange swooping sensation filled Bran’s belly with excitement. He beamed down at her.  
  
“Then why didn’t you ever say something?”  
  
“What? Me? Proposition you? I couldn’t do that Bran, you were younger than me. You trusted me, I couldn’t abuse that. Besides you’re my Liege Lord’s son. It wouldn’t have been proper.”  
  
“Yes, and you’ve always been so worried about proprietary,” Bran teased, letting a sing song lilt enter his voice, “I think you were just _shy_ , Meera. Meera Reed is shy! Meera is sh-”  
  
She kissed him again just to shut him up and if Bran had any lingering doubts about Meera’s sincerity they were washed away by her obvious enthusiasm. She practically had to leap into his arms to kiss him. Her arms wrapped around his neck again as her legs ended up entirely off the ground, curling around his hips and thighs as he quickly moved to catch her. Stumbling forward, she ended up braced against the corridor’s stone wall. His heart hammered in his chest, his blood rushed through him in a great tide of heat and her mouth was blessed sweet relief from it. They kissed deeply and his hands gripped and squeezed at the firm flesh of her strong legs and the smooth curve of her arse. Her heels dug into him, urging him closer until the tight bulge in his breeches pressed into the juncture of her legs, the friction jolting through his lower body like a thunderstrike. He felt a surge, a tension between them about to break in glorious relief.  
  
And then Summer growled in warning at them. Surprise rolled over them as they both jerked in surprise, Bran’s grip on Meera lessened as she dropped to her feet unsteadily. There was a thundering of feet further up the corridor and then;  
  
“Hodor!” A joyous voice said. And the dim-witted but huge stable boy appeared, padding softly down the corridor with a great bundle of wood slung over one shoulder. He ambled down the corridor towards them with his ready, simple smile on his face.  
  
“Hoo-dor.” He said to Bran in passing.  
  
“Hodor,” Bran said solemnly in reply and clapped him on one shoulder as he went about his way.  
  
It was as if someone had suddenly dunked his head in a snowdrift and woke him up. Shame lurked in his gut and worries poured into his mind from all corners.  
  
If that had been anyone but Hodor, if it had been any other serving person, the gossip would have spread to all corners of the castle within the hour. Everyone would have known that he’d been seen in a corridor rutting against Meera like a dog.  
  
Of course his reputation might have withstood it. It might have added a bit of spice to his reputation, men would laugh and make ribald jests but think better of him for having a manly lust, at least if it had been with a serving girl. That was almost expected. Even Robb had had stories of that nature circulated once or twice at a similar age.  
  
But Meera? Already she got odd glances for her crannog heritage and ways, to be seen as some kind of despoiled lady or a slattern on top of that? It could have ruined her.  
  
It didn’t change one thing about the way he felt about her, of course, but he was a Stark of Winterfell. He was supposed to be better than that. He was supposed to have control,  _honour_. He brought himself up to his full height. Feeling oddly formal, he said solemnly to Meera.  
  
“Lady Meera, I feel I must apologise. That was completely inappropriate of me.”  
  
Meera got a stunned look about her and Bran suddenly realised she thought he was going to take it all back. Quickly he took her hand in both of his and placed it to his chest.  
  
“You know my heart, my lady. And I know yours, but we cannot act on it just yet. It would not be honourable. Know this though, I shall go to my father at once to ask his permission for us to wed.”  
  
Other people might find that strange. They would think it was her father he must ask permission but they were both nobly-born and knew how the system of arranged marriages worked. Neither of them said it but they both knew the odds of a great house marrying their son to the lowest of their vassal houses was unlikely.  
  
And just as silently they both hoped against hope that they would beat the odds.  
  
~  
  
Later that evening Bran marshalled his courage. With the memory of Meera’s smile it did not take much, even though he was taking the unprecedented step of going to his father’s solar unasked. The door was open but Bran felt it best to knock on the frame on the before entering.  
  
“Come In,” said Lord Eddard Stark calmly. For that was the face he wore, the face of the Lord, not Bran’s father. Robb sat in the solar as well, obviously deep in discussion with his Lord about issues of the realm.  
  
“Lord Stark. I wish to raise a matter with you.” Bran said, finding his own approximation of the formal lordly voice coming to him.  
  
“Of course, Brandon. I had meant to ask you here for a talk, before now.” Lord Eddard gestured towards to chair opposite his desk. And Bran headed to sit in it, saying,  
  
“Really Father?”  
  
“Don’t play the boy, Bran.” Robb said, firmly. He wasn’t as good at the Lordly voice as Eddard, though and a hint of his annoyance seeped into his tone. The merest sideways glance of his father’s eyes quieted him though.  
  
“I hardly need to remind you that you almost have a man’s years, Brandon Stark. As such, I have granted you a man’s freedoms and respect in this castle. After last night, however, I do feel I need to remind you that I also expect a man’s discipline and restrain as well. Do you understand me?”  
  
Bran nodded and then said,  
  
“Yes, My Lord.”  
  
“Good, then I shall say no more on the subject. What did you want to talk to me about?”  
  
And just like that the tension eased in Bran’s chest. He felt like a child talking to his father again, not a man being disciplined by his Lord. He took a deep breath and tried to marshal his thoughts into words. None of the things he’d practised saying in his head really seemed appropriate.  
  
“As you said. I am a man with the responsibilities and freedoms but there is one freedom that is traditionally denied to men in my position.”  
  
He paused, thinking until his father prompted,  
  
“It’s fine. Go on Bran.”  
  
“You’ve been gone a long time Father and you always kept your own counsel but I find I must ask you a straight question. Have you come to any arrangements with anyone? Or formed any alliances to be sealed by me marrying someone?”  
  
“Is that what you’re worried about?” The cracks had formed in the Lordly exterior for maybe a second. “Bran, a man or not. I’m not about to ship you off to an arranged marriage this instant. I had not thought that you would concern yourself with it for another couple of years, at least. And when I do, you’ll be betrothed for some time before hand.”  
  
A feeling of hope swelled in Bran’s chest, bringing with it near giddiness. He was not yet promised; there was still a chance. His father might listen to him.  
  
“It was not the idea of leaving Winterfell imminently that worried me Father, but the idea that I might already be promised to someone and have to marry for duty when I instead wish to marry for love.”  
  
Robb half-coughed and half-choked something back but Bran paid him no attention, he was instead gazing intently upon his father’s unknowable face.  
  
“Should I take it then you have someone in mind?” His father said.  
  
Brandon swallowed. One way or the other, this was it; the moment of no return.  
  
“Lady Meera Reed,” He said slowly and carefully.  
  
Robb guffawed and slapped his knee sharply.  
  
“Meera? Really? She’s twice your age Bran, why would she even want you?”  
  
Bran couldn’t help the flush rising to his cheek but otherwise forced his emotions into check, or at least he thought he did. He tried to speak and heard his voice crack and sound childish and as he retorted.  
  
“She is not twice my age and I know she is interested.”  
  
“Oh, yeah? How?” Robb snapped back, but then Eddard slapped his hand to his desk and the two brothers subsided into silence. He did not speak for quite a while, just considering Bran with his cool grey eyes. Bran tried to stand still and not to fidget under his father’s gaze.  
  
“Bran, I realise why you were nervous to bring this to me. Doubtless you understand there is little advantage to House Stark to cultivating ties with Greywater Watch. And that talking to Lady Meera about it before me was most improper.”  
  
“Well, I just thought they’d be no point asking you if she wasn’t interested in me.” Bran said quietly.  
  
“Nevertheless.”- Eddard trailed off in the same way Bran had before taking the plunge and stating his desires- “Nevertheless. I can think of no match I would more gladly make for you, son.”  
  
“What?!” Gasped Robb, but Ned and Bran both ignored him. Bran tried and failed to keep the broad smile from his face. He felt guilty until he realised his father was smiling back at him.  
  
“Marriages are not just about creating new friends, my sons but also about reinforcing or rewarding old ones. I have talked to you before about Howland Reed. He was a good friend to me back in the war; I would be honoured for our House to have closer ties with his. We shall be the better for it.” – He clapped his hands together and the sudden sound seemed to signal the end of the meeting for everyone – “Now if you two would grant me the peace and quiet of my solar… It seems I have a letter to write to Greywater Watch.”  
  
~  
  
In the end it took the better part of a year before they actually got married and that was still considered a scandalously short engagement by some members of the nobility (including Sansa) but Meera’s obvious non-pregnancy put lie to many of the rumours concerning the exact reason for their suddenly impending nuptials.  
  
They were chaperoned the entire time, which was socially correct but ultimately pointless. It had only served to make the kisses they’d managed to steal all the more exciting.  
  
His mother had spend more time with Meera in those few months than in the years she had guested at Winterfell and with the authority only a future good-mother could wield, she had made Meera make a few changes in her life. She grew out her hair from a boyish cut to a merely scandalously short shoulder length style and started wearing dresses occasionally.  
  
It was quite the learning experience for Bran. He kept learning new things about Meera, quite aside from how she looked in a dress. (Spectacular, as it showed off the gentle curves he’d never seen through her bronze armour). But her hopes and dreams as well, things she never shared to her lord spilled out freely to her betrothed.  
  
Even of the day of their wedding he found out something new; House Reed actually had a sigil. Neither she nor her brother Jojen had displayed it before and even Maester Luwin who had taught him all about the rites and customs of the Crannogmen had never mentioned it, but it was there as clear as day on her maiden’s cloak; a golden-green lizard lion and dark marsh green background. It really suited her but not half so much as the white and grey direwolf cloak he put her in instead.  
  
~  
  
The bedding was a terrible idea, Bran thought as the wedding feast drew towards it close. He squeezed Meera’s hand for comfort as the wedding guests closed in on the pair of them, separating them to be hauled up their marriage bed by members of the opposite gender, while being stripped naked by them and subject to bawdy commentary and jests.  
  
Bran knew he didn’t really have anything to be worried about, but he’d never been as tall or broad shouldered or as well muscled as his brother Robb, instead his build was tough, compact and wiry, it was a climber’s build that suited him perfectly well but he didn’t think would exactly drive the women wild with lust.  
  
As he was born towards his wedding bed with many female hands toying and fiddling with the laces and fastenings of his clothing, he didn’t know which he found more embarrassing, that some of people undressing him were highborn maidens he barely knew, just saw at feasts a couple of times a year, or that some of them were serving woman and girls that he’d known his entire life. It seemed as if every bawdy joke was punctuated by Jeyne Poole’s distinctive nasal laugh. It was Alys Karstark who made her laugh even though she was basically making the same joke over and over, suggesting why Bran wanted a small crannog wife was because that’s all he was equipped to please. By the time they’d actually gotten him out of his smallclothes however, she had to stop making it as she took one look at him and flushed red with jealously.  
  
Dacey Mormont had laughed harder at the look on Alys’s face then than she had at any of her japes. They set Bran down on his feet at the entrance to his wedding chamber and Dacey brusquely reassured him.  
  
“You’re going to do great. Now go get ‘er stud.”  
And she gave him a parting slap on the arse, propelling him over the threshold with a quite unmanly squeak of surprise. They was more jovial laughter and Bran took great pleasure in slamming the door in their faces and barring it firmly shut. He couldn’t remember if he was actually supposed to have done that or not but it felt so good he couldn’t regret it.  
  
He turned back to see Meera grinning at him from beneath the bed’s furs but only for a second, before it faded and he could see worry in her eyes. He suddenly realised he was standing in front of her entirely naked and could only feel awkward about that. He mentally cursed the bedding ceremony as designed for the pleasure of the guests and not those getting married, he remembered the sweetness of those stolen kisses how they felt they could easily fallen into bed together right there and then, but here the bedding robbed them of any sense of closeness for the amusement of the crowd outside.  
  
“Meera,” he said softly. “Are you alright?” He remembered the women’s pointed jests and could only wonder what the men might have said about Meera. Anger whirled just the surface, if Robb had said something to upset her he was going to punch him right in the face tomorrow.  
  
“Yes, Bran. I-I just can’t believe we’re actually here.” He sat down on the bed and notice she seemed to pull the furs up higher about her.  
  
“Me too. But in a good way, right?”  
  
Meera laughed but didn’t answer. There were voices coming through the door, muffled, but nevertheless Bran thought he got the sentiment of ‘well get on with it then’ from them. He ignored them.  
  
“Did they insult you, at the bedding?” he asked softly, jaw tight with anger.  
  
“Yes, well, No. No… It’s just… it’s true. I am older than you Bran. And small. And most people don’t think crannogs are beautiful and… I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”  
  
With great solemnity, Bran took her hand in his and placed a kiss on the back of it.  
  
“Lady Meera Stark,” he said, savouring the sound of it, “You’ve been my dearest friend for years, you’re funny and smart and kind and I will never ever be disappointed with you. So, may I see you? Please?”  
  
Meera took a deep breath and then slowly began to shove the furs down her body past her waist and Bran took them from her and slid them over her legs and off the bed entirely so he could gaze at her nude form.  
  
She was small as she’d said, but slender and lean as well, they was little fat on her and her arms and legs were strong and toned with muscle. People had said she was a flat as a boy but that was so anymore, she had small firm breasts that suited her frame and brown curls graced the mound between her legs. Her body was littered with small scars as well, from training and sparing and maybe some hunting mishaps as there was one white line several inches long just above her left knee.  
  
In short, she was perfect and he told her so.  
  
He reached out reverently and brushed her hair out of her face so he could kiss her. He’d been wrong, kissing her now was no less sweet because they were allowed to do it. Her hands wrapped around his body and she gave his arse a quick squeeze, prompting a surprised gasp from Bran. He could feel himself smile as they continued to kiss. He broke the kiss to dive his head closer to her and plant kisses on her throat.  
  
“Hmmm. That feels nice,” She murmured and he felt the vibrations through his lips.  
  
“I think we can do better than nice, don’t you?” Bran said and continued tracing the tip of his tongue down her body. Her fingers curled through his auburn locks and clutched at him as he slowly circled her nipples with his tongue and then showered soft kisses on the hard flat muscles of her stomach.  
Of course it was as he trailed his fingers through the curly brown hairs between her legs when the fun really started to begin. His strong hands parted her legs to reveal the folds of her womanhood and a sliver of pale pink flesh between them.  
  
He wetted his lips in anticipation. The other men, when they had deigned to talk or rather boast about these things with Bran, had joked about this, calling it ‘The Lord’s Kiss’ and did not think highly of it but practically ever since then he’d thought about doing it to Meera.  
  
Then he licked her, down to up, and the reaction from Meera was instant, her hips jerked and Bran had to move his hands to her hips to hold her in place while he repeated the action, darting his tongue across her in quick swipes. The taste of her became much stronger as he did so, tangy and just slightly metallic. It might not have been a pleasant taste if it not been Meera’s, but her squirming and cries of pleasure were more than enough to keep him going at it.  
  
“Oh Gods, Bran! Bran! Dear sweet Bran!” She shrieked raising her hips to gain more contact with his lips and tongue, and along with her cries he could hear the sound of cheering from the hangers-on outside the door.  
  
Bran’s face ended up buried in her pussy, he abandoned the licking and instead just plunged his tongue straight into her centre. Meera’s cries died to a breathless whimper as her pleasure seemed to peak; her body tensing, her legs squeezed tight enough around her shoulders that breathing became an issue and then she fell back to the bed completely limp and relaxed; her eyes unfocused.  
  
Bran sat up and wiped his hand on his unaccountably damp jaw and smiled.  
  
“I guess, that went well then?”  
  
“Oooohh. Yeah,” said Meera still trying to recover her breath.  
  
It took a few more moments before she felt ready and able to continue but she did it was obvious by the way she grabbed Bran’s head said ‘come here gorgeous’ and pulled him down on top of her to kiss him. He tried to hold his weight off her with his arms but they both still felt it where his manhood was pressing against her mound and stomach. He was embarrassed for a second or two until he realised that it wasn’t inappropriate at all anymore.  
  
Meera spread her legs bit wider for him and reached a hand between them to help guide him into her. She was still wet and slippery from Bran’s attentions and his cock pressed into her entrance easily but his broad head was thick enough to cause Meera’s breath to catch and she twitched in discomfort. He immediately stopped, not wanting to hurt her but she immediately reassured him;  
  
“It’s alright, Bran. It’s alright, I can do this. Got an idea.”  
  
And her hands trailed down the length of his spine to cup and squeeze his bum. Bran groaned, the feel of her hands there was surprisingly pleasant and then she tugged his hips towards her. Bran got the idea and pushed letting her hands dictate the speed and pace she was comfortable with. It was hard to concentrate, Meera’s body clung to him, squeezing his manhood every inch with its tightness, but the idea of hurting Meera was even harder to contemplate. They went slowly and stopped once more for a moment but eventually he was entirely inside her.  
  
They lay entirely entwined and interlocked. Meera’s head was cradled in his arms and her hands were still clasped on his bottom. Bran realised at second he’d never seemed to encounter Meera’s maidenhead, though he had no doubts she’d actually been a maiden, he assumed to rigours of riding and fighting and hunting had broken it before she ever reached their bed.  
  
“Now I’m your lady wife, new rule. You never get to wear a cloak. Ever.” Meera said softly in his ear.  
  
“I… huh?” Was all that Bran could manage by way of a reply.  
  
“So I get to see this all the time.” She explained giving his arse another squeeze.  
  
“Gods, don’t make me giggle when we’re like this,” Bran sniggered.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like  _This_!” He said and shifted his hips back. Meera’s voice faltered and fell to a soft whine as he pushed back in slowly.  
  
He slowly rocked his hips and tried to keep his pace slow and steady. His and Meera’s low groans filled the air and he could feel her relax and ease into their coupling. For his part though he was feeling tenser, the pressure was building up in his balls. Burying himself in Meera’s heat just felt so damn good. He groaned with effort, he was supposed to hold out he remembered, supposed to please her first.  
  
Meera must have seen his efforts to resist, her hands groped and petting his back and she showered soft kisses on his neck and shoulders.  
  
“Bran, it’s alright, I’m fine, I’m good, you can do it.”  
  
Given Permission, Bran could hardly resist any longer. He still wasn’t sure if Meera had peaked like she had before but he realised he’d have plenty more chances to please her in the future. Planting a deep kiss on Meera’s lips, he pushed himself fully inside her and felt a deep wave of satisfaction course through him, his body pulsed with elation as his seed erupted from him and deep in to Meera’s body. His head felt light and his limbs heavy but he managed to roll off her before he squashed her flat.  
  
She snuggled up to his side and giggled when he carefully drew the furs over her and made sure she was completed covered.  
  
As he lay there, with the love of his life, safely curled up in his arms, Bran felt his life was complete. Winter may be coming, as the Stark words said but with Meera at his side, he knew they would weather it.


End file.
